Story's End
by TheLetterQ
Summary: Complete:: A final moment of storytime from one patient of Brookhaven to another...Art of Moroi can be found at valtielDotcom
1. Story Time

_DISCLAIMER:_ I don't own Silent Hill. A shame, huh...because it rocks. Moroi Kagyuu(Delicate Snail), however, belongs to me. Yes, I realize she has a Japanese name. There's a reason, which might be clarified later...Enjoy!

**Story Time**  
A Silent Hill fic by Q

Leisure time was all fine and good to little Snailgirl. She absorbed it voraciously. This was when she could talk and play with the other like minded individuals here. This was one of the few times she need not depend on her own mind. Good time indeed.

Chipperly, the young girl skipped over to one of the patients. He sat in a cushioned chair, easy and legs crossed indian style. He heard the tell-tale slap of bare, skipping skin along the tile, and glanced up.

"Moroi." He smiled at the young girl, scaresely sixteen, yet much more cherub faced. The asian girl skid on her foot-soles over to her friend, promptly falling backwards on her rear at his feet. The icy chill of the tiles leeched through the thin hospital issue pants and absorbed into her thighs and seat.

The Girl's friend then nodded to the absent space at her left. "And Growl." He said, acknowledging Moroi's imaginary monster friend, whom she swore to death that followed her around night and day. Mister Chair-sitter turned his eyes back to the young girl at his feet. "I suppose you want-"

Moroi eagerly cut him off, a childlike smile on her lips. "We want to hear another story! A story about the Princess of your Heart." Moroi pointed squarely at her friend's chest.

But the stories of his Princess didn't help his situation, and quite the contrary, worsened his stay here. Mention of Her tended to send him into violent fits. He had been in solitary confinement for quite a while do to his last tirade...If the nurses found out he was talking of Her again-...

The man glanced furtively to the nurses station, licking his dry lips in slow apprehension.

"I can't."

Moroi smiled, her honey coloured eyes bright with encouragement and child-like innocence. "Yes you can." The young japanese patient folded down her two middle fingers, erecting the pointer and pinky, before stretching out her arm.

"The Snail will protect you!" She wiggled her pointer and pinky fingers, which served as the snail's antennae. The wiggling served to give the 'Snail' a grand, playful and carefree personality.

The man sighed, but could never resist the lure of the Snail. Something about Moroi's useless snail shadow puppets and gestures usually got to most the patients here. The snail truly was a saint amongst the sanitarium. No one would dare hurt the Snail.

"Alright. I've never actually seen this wonderful woman," His voice melted like burnt satin. Was that why he liked Moroi so? She gave him a reason to hear the grandness of his own voice. Also, she asked about the wonderful fantasy of Her. But above all, she cared. She listened. "yet I know that she is a genuine Goddess amongst women. Soft, and kind, and strong. She was made for me." He sneered, swatting at a thought as if were an insignificant insect. "Oh, she might not pay me mind yet, but soon. You see, little girl, the day will come when she comes to my door, glowing like the mother of God, and I will give her a bouquet of my plastic tidings to her."

His nails dug into the chairs arms.

"And we will create a Paradise with our love! Our pure, inebriated one-ness. She is cruel, yet fair. The Powers in her eyes are unmatched ever! I bring her favors and she plucks them up with an embarrassed blush, a halo of creation and adoration. Because No one's ever-...Ever loved her like I do- Like I could! She will see that. Even now I know that she is coming ever closer. Closer, child! and she'll set me free. set us all free! Won't that be nice?! SO NICE!!"

Moroi quickly touched the antennae to his brow, which instantly calmed him. If the nurses had heard how loud he was progressively getting, they'd take him away again, and then she'd have to tell herself stories. And that was dull.

"...so nice..." He purred. "Soon, Moroi. She'll free us."

As if courteously waiting for him to end his tale, a voice now crackled over the speaker, filling the cool air of the recreation room with its patronizing tone. "Medication time! Line up for Medication time!"

Moroi smiled, pushing herself to her feet. Placing her hands strictly at her sides, the young girl bent, offering a small bow of appreciation, causing her chin length, raven hair to fall about her cheeks, before she righted herself, then waved brightly at him with a flailing snail.

"Come on Growl, time for treats!" Her un-snailed hand griped air, and she turned, skipping to the nurses station. Glancing over her shoulder, she called to the storyteller.

"Thank you for the story, Mr. Coleman."  
  
June 26th '04


	2. The End

_DISCLAIMER:_ I don't own Silent Hill, Konami does, the lucky bastards. I own Moroi, and all her schizophrenic delusions. Stan-...something loud just went bang outside...::heart jumped...takes a moment to recover:: Anyways...Stanley Coleman fascinates me...I was driven to write this..and write this I did. Sorry if some details are fudged, it's been a while since I've seen that part played. 

**The End**  
A SH fic by Q.

_This is the end, beautiful friend. This is the end, my only friend, the end...  
Father?  
Yes son?  
I want to kill you. Mother? I want to fuck you.  
- The Doors "The End"_

He had been bad again. So bad. It wasn't his intent, everyone knew that. No one here ever meant to be bad. It just happened.

He was locked away, denied the time to fraternize with other patients. It was unfortunate, but something the hospital staff deemed necessary. Moroi, however, was lonely without her friend Mister Coleman.

Yesterday he was quietly writing in his diaries, when a nurse ushered him back to his room. Upon looking up from his writings, he fell into delusion. Mister Coleman had mistaken the nurse for a the woman he loved: Heather. He had jumped up and grabbed her head, screaming with joy 'Oh, Heather! Finally we're together!'. But Mister Coleman was wrong. His psychotic fog cleared from his eyes and he realized the simple, chubby face of Nurse Hallowell. Then he pushed her aside, yelling that the nurse lied, and had taken Heather from him. They had to restrain Mister Coleman. It took five officers, and he had bitten one of them on the arm, ripping out a chunk of flesh.

After they managed to lock Coleman away, he was denied all privileges.

And Moroi missed Stanley Coleman, the man who would tell her stories of Heather. Yet Coleman was a good teacher, the little japanese girl noted, and she had a plan. Moroi would get her stories one way or another...  
----

The little japanese teenager giggled at the air to her left. No one saw anything there, yet she spoke to it as if it were a person. The Day Room was dull today. Several of Moroi's 'real' friends were away. Real meaning flesh and blood. Real in no way meant close, or tried and true buddies. All it meant was that they could be seen by the hospital staff.

Warm, honey coloured eyes side-glanced a nurse. Moroi kept on her gaze, even after the nurse met it with her own. The young girl smiled, yet continued the starring contest. Things became timeless and nonexistent.

The nurse felt an unconscious tremble skirt up her spine, and her eyes began to ache from lack of blinking. She inhaled suddenly, and tore her vision from the seemingly sweet girl, an iciness welling in her chest.

Moroi's smile grew brighter when the nurse looked away, and she quickly scurried under one of the room's armchairs. It was Stanley's favorite, and he often kept his journals there while writing in the main room. They remained there still, since Stanley hadn't the chance to collect them since his ...epsiode.

Moroi strained to reach all the books, her toes tapping a rhythm of encouragement out on the cold tile floor. Her fingers pulled a book to her, then another, which she piled on the first. A third, a fourth...five in all.

She gripped the tower of five little hardbound journals, and backed out from under the dusty chair, getting into a kneeling position.

"Mister Coleman will love to have these, Growl!" Moroi chirped as she stood, running out of the room with her gifts clutched tightly to her little chest.

Making her way to S7 was simple enough. It was one of those believe things. If she believed she had every right to be walking down the halls of Brookhaven hospital, with nearly half a dozen books to her chest that didn't belong to her, and an imaginary monster at her side, then that she did!

"Miiiiiiiiiister Cooooolemaaannn...!" Called the girl in a sing-song voice. "I b-..!" She suddenly quieted as a warm, slimy bile grew within her stomach. Something was wrong.

"Listen to me, _Stanley_! Stop writing and listen to me!" Growled a sickening voice from within Mister Coleman's cell. "You are not to touch a hair on her head! She is the key, and all this has been far too long unattended."

"Oh, that's right." Moroi heard Stanley chortle. "She'll lead you to Paradise. How cute. Do you think she loves you, Leonard? Do you think sh-"

"Do you think she loves _you_, you insolent mental patient?! You're delusional. Heather would never love a pathetic non-believer."

"SHUT UP!" Stanley screamed out, and sounds of struggle seeped into the trembling Moroi's ears. She gripped the front of her shirt between her teeth and chewed, trying to muffle any noise she may make. Compulsively, she folded the two middle fingers of each hand down, and stuck out the pointer and pinkies. Her gestures resembled a snail, and she shut her eyes. The Snail would protect Stanley and her, it had to!

"Leonard-..Leonard!?"

"Look at these pathetic toys, Coleman! DOLLS?! Do you really think that Heather still played with dolls?! You're sick, and you insult our intelligence and our faith!"

"No!" Stanley crooned in a voice teeming with sorry and despair. "My gifts!!"

Moroi curled in a ball, knees to her face, hands still snail-y.

"You will not..." Sneered Leonard's voice. "bring it all to ruin."

A sickening crack emitted from the room, followed by a dull, heavy thump. Soon after was sounded the squeak of a window opening. Moroi could guess what was happening inside the room.

As the single set of footsteps neared the hall, Moroi tightened her hold on herself and wished.

_Don't see me. You don't see me. I'm a snail in it's shell._

Shakily, the young mental patient began to lift her head, just enough that a single, honey coloured eye peeked past a cotton clad knee, and to the murderer.

_But they do see you._

As if on command brought by some divine rule, staff ran into the halls, clogging it up at either ends. Leonard was cornered.

Moroi, however, did not concern herself with that. Instead, she uncurled from her protective shell, and stood quietly, before purposely padding toward room S7. This was where Stanley Coleman had lived during the time she knew him. It was, too where he died. Her ears were numb to the charismatic words of Leonard as he tried to coerce the staff into letting him his freedom. Her eyes took in the book on his bed, which was stained with blood. Her delicate, harmless hands gently opened the cover, and she flipped through it numbly, finally stopping on a certain page. The ink was still wet, and tickled her nose. The final pen-marks were smudged by interruption. Near it, lay a shattered, dismembered doll; one Stanley had carefully crafted out of love.

Moroi turned her head, dully heading toward the window. She leaned against the wall, looking down onto the yard, watching as they carried Stanley's body away. To the burning room it would go, no doubt.

Moroi starred, her body pricking like pins and needles watching the world outside do nothing except excrete that repetitive, teeming fog of it's own doing.

June 26th 11:30pm 2004


	3. Inside the Snail's Shell

_DISCLAIMER:_ I don't own Silent Hill, Konami does. ::Soon will have her grubbie li'l hands on a copy of SH4:The Room, and all shall be resplendent:: Moroi Kagyuu belongs to me, just like in the first two chapters. Nothing's changed.  
  
Wanna see what Moroi looks like? Sure ya do! Lookie at the Snailgirl! the Snail's ShellA Silent Hill Fic by Q.  
  
Her melted gold coloured eyes remained transfixed on that stoic, emotionless fog that meandered past the glass of the window. The young girl felt the wind from the frantic tenants trying to subdue Leonard Wolfe, murderer.  
  
Murderer. Murderer of Stanley Coleman, her friend. Her only flesh-and-blood friend in this whole crazy, bedlam asylum. She could hear the sirens wailing dully in her ears, the ones that let the nurses know an emergency was at foot. But the young asian girl did not listen, her mind did not register with them, instead, she just stare out the window. Knowing full well that the dolls dressed in fixy-hospital costumes would soon try to get her to leave, Moroi just held her friend's journals closer to her small, cotton covered chest.  
  
Moroi felt something at her shoulder, a strong, heavy, and dangerous claw. The claw of a monster. A guttural, acrid voice whispered in her ear.   
  
"Moroi, time to leave."  
  
"No, Growl." Moroi responded, gaze ever fixated on the world beyond. "I'm gonna wait."  
  
"Wait? For what?" The monster called Growl queried, his own eyes flickering to the courtyard. "Until they drug you, and drag you out by force?"  
"For her." Replied the girl sullenly, her nose sucking some fluid which threatened to drip down out of a nostril.  
  
"Her?" Growl's broad shoulders sank. He knew full well who Moroi meant. 'Her'.  
  
'Heather'. The woman of Coleman's delusion fantasies. The monster groaned.  
  
"Moroi, you don't honestly believe that she's real, do you?" That gravelly voice tried to calmly rationalize with his friend.  
  
"Stanley did." To Moroi, that was more then enough of a reason to keep a vigil.  
  
"With no results." Pointed out Growl, looking back at the commotion in the hall. The other patients were yelling now, screaming and laughing at the sirens, the maddening sirens that told them nothing bode well. A crescendoing choir of howls and keens which took up residence in the monster's ear canals. He cringed. "Moroi. Let's go back to your roo-"  
  
Moroi spun, her slanted eyes narrow and burning with an angry ember that snuffed out her normally calm, well-eased gaze. She screamed.  
  
"I am not going _anywhere_!!"  
  
"Come now, dear, I know you're upset." The nurse coo-ed, already preparing a syringe. Moroi's eyes went from burning red with madness, to wide with apprehension."We know you're upset, but this will make it all better."  
  
Moroi gasped, head turning this way and that, in desperate search for her friend, Growl. Seeing the demonic figment seemed to had abandoned her, the girl gripped onto the hard covered books even tighter, tan coloured knuckles draining to white. She shook her head at the nurse. Torpor, a dreadful thing. That was where Moroi had no control, and her dreams and imaginings could do what they will. She couldn't go into that drug induced coma. It was horrifying there. As if an invisible dam was before her ears, the noises suddenly seemed to swell, breaking the barrier between her mind and the outside world. The screams and shrieks of the wards of Brookhaven spilled into her brain, causing an enthused reaction.   
  
Moroi lent her voice to the cry, letting her voice rip out from the top of her lungs. The nurse jolted, and the little Snailgirl managed to jump over the now occupent-less bed in room S7, and let her bare feet shoot her away from that room. The halls blurred past Moroi in tints of gray, beige and brown as she hurried along, weaving amongst abandoned gurneys and wandering lunatics. The grieving girl darted across the hall, and slammed hands first into a wall. Her hand pounded on a small button upon the wall. The elevator.  
  
With an inviting ding, the doors yawned open, beckoning Moroi inside, which she went with gratitude. Another button was slammed, this one to the first floor. As the doors clamped shut, separating the needle-wilding nurse from the young charge, Moroi let out a puff of paranoid air. She took this brief opportunity to recuperate from the ordeal.  
  
Sliding down to the ground, the young neurotic sat, notebooks ever to her chest, knees to the notebooks. She sniffled again, tears beginning to etch their watery path down her soft cheeks.   
  
"Stanley..." The young, frightened girl hiccupped out a sob as she hugged her friend's mementos.

At least she felt safe. It was funny, in a sad way. The elevator, to Moroi, seemed like her own personal snail shell. She would have smiled if she wasn't so very sad.   
  
The elevator suddenly jolted, snapping the girl from her grief. With a whine of metal against metal, the doors forced themselves apart and open. An ominous sound followed, and Moroi, placing the books upon the elevator floor, slowly rose to her feet. With the over-zealous caution of a child playing hide and seek, the girl tiptoed to the doors, peeking down the halls.   
  
Odd. It was empty. Utterly deserted. The halls were rusted and worn from lack of use. Brookhaven was un-kept, but to Moroi, the dilapidated, dark state of the halls was just _wrong_. Did the elevator take her forward in time? No, that was silly.  
  
Where'd everyone go? There was always staff walking to-and-fro room to room, scritch-scritch-scritching on their clipboards, yet no one was here. And that meant one thing...  
  
Freedom!  
  
With a blink of shock, and an childish giggle, Moroi retreated back to the elevator's wall. Perfect! She'd casually walk out the doors, and to freedom!  
  
"Let's go find Heather, Stanley." Moroi's eyes turned to the floor, her comment directed towards the neat stack of journals.

But the stack of journals had abandoned her.   
  
July 5th '04 9:59pm


	4. The Geisha

DISCLAIMER: Here we go again, boys and girls. Well, here we have a SH favorite making an appearance, modified accordingly. I think we all know how I feel about "Mixing Monsters". Don't do it. Moroi Kakyuu belongs to me, Don't use her without permission, I'll probably say yes, if you ask nicely. Silent Hill belongs to Konami, still the luckiest gaming bastards ever.  
  
The Geisha  
  
A SH ficlet by Q  
  
Moroi Kakyuu ran a slender hand through her shortly cropped, raven coloured hair. As her finger caught a snag, she ignored it, her hand absently pulling from the tresses and falling at her side. Moroi was in trouble: Her friends journals were gone, and she seemed utterly alone. Her original plan was to run out of this God-Forsaken place with her friends journals, and to taste freedom once again. However, her dearly departed friend's mementos had vanished, and Moroi, being a girl of rather high loyalty and sentiment, could not just abandon them. It was wrong.  
  
Stepping fully out onto the path, the young woman stared down the hall, brows furrowing. As a light growl echoed down the hall to her ear, Moroi's eyes narrowed. That sound was real, not in her mind, even though the nurses often told her that such a thing was impossible. But there it was, ticking her eardrum, taunting her senses, and what was left of her threaded, hairline fractured sanity.  
  
The ground was chilled against the rough pads of her feet, one of the few course spots on her fair body. It was clammy for no apparent reason, and sent a chill rolling up Moroi's spine. Snailgirl's soft hands compulsively let her fingers twitch and fist and flick, tightening and stretching to their limits. The sheer desertion of Brookhaven's halls made her nervous.  
  
By now, Moroi's bare feet had taken her down the corridor, it's cold, dilapidated walls not changing their state. She sighed as a cheerless set of double doors blocked her path. Chewing idley on her tongue, Moroi gripped the crossbar and pushed the left door open. It groaned, and stood against her forceful pushes with resilience, yet in the end, Moroi was triumphant, and passed the door. It clattered loudly behind her as it slammed shut, and the nervous girl jumped, head turning sharply to look back at the rude door.  
  
Taking a moment to catch her breath, Moroi turned back to face forward, this corridor was the same as the one previous. Moroi groaned,dragging her feet as she headed down the right fork in the hall. Rounding the corner, the girl turned her eyes, now dull with nerves and loneliness, to the small plaque posted on the door to her left.   
  
567  
  
Doctor's Lounge  
  
"They might have a telephone in here." Deadpanned the girl as she gripped the doorknob. It too, was as icy as the rest of Moroi's surroundings. Turning the knob, she pushed the door open, and entered the room.   
  
A twisted moan caught the girl's attention, and her eyes befell a figure, mottled, hap-hazard and vial. It was a woman in shape, her body leaning heavily on a wheel-mounted intravenous stand. The IV packet was clutched in what Moroi expected to be a hand, but was more of a prosthetic claw, two large, hook shaped pieces of metal serving as fingers. She was dressed in a nurse's cap, and her outfit was reminiscent of a nurse as well, but the skirt slit up to either hip, and the collar was low, off the shoulders, and cut like a kimono. It was also made entirely out of bandages.  
  
It's hair was done up in an elaborate bun, held together with long syringe-needles, in place of chopsticks. But instead of piercing through the hair, they punctured the nurse's skull, right behind the ears.  
  
Despite the 'woman's' appearance, she was amazingly swift, and snapped the loose tube from the IV bag like a whip. Moroi's eyes widened like saucers, her voice catching in her throat.  
  
Another crack of the IV whip caught Moroi's cheek, and sliced it viciously. Snailgirl cried out, pressing her palm to the wound, eyes always on the monster. It hissed and bubbled at her, head twitching quickly as if it were cast in a paint-can shaker.  
  
"What are you?!" Screamed the girl, cornered by the monster.  
  
In answer, it cracked the IV again, this time, successfully wrapping the plastic-y tube around Moroi's ankle and pulling yanking, managing to pull the girl's feet out from under her. Moroi's form executed a rather impressive flip before landing forcefully upon her stomach, winded. She coughed, her lower ribs aching from the landing. Weakly, Moroi tried to push herself up. She had partially succeeded, before she felt the tube constrict around her neck, and the weight of the nurse pressed against her back. The tubes tightened, closing off her air passage, the pull arching her body backward.   
  
Her vision began to swim as tears of panic gathered in her eyes. Her flat, bitten nails could grab nothing from the ground as they scratched and struggled against the tile. Another painful tug bent her farther backward.  
  
The geisha-nurse hissed venomously in her ear for a final time, before Moroi's already fragile resilience was shattered.  
  
Fri. July 9th 9:47am 


	5. Go Snap!

_ DISCLAIMER: You didn't really think I killed her, did you? Snapped her spine and frail little japanese school girl body in half? Pfft! Of course not! Moroi's too fun and sweet to just kill off like that! Anyway, last I checked, Silent Hill was owned by Konami. Nothing has changed. I weep. Moroi however, and the Geisha Nurse are all fabrications of my own warped psyche. On with the Show._

**Go Snap!**  
A SH fic by Q

The young mental patient grit her teeth as sparkles mixed with the tears in her eyes. Another few inches, and there'd be two Moroi Kagyuu's! Her button nose, crinkled and tense from the agony of being pulled backwards, could pick up the acidic, rotten stench of the Geisha-themed nurse's breath. Her head was so close to Moroi's that the needle tip protruding from the monster's skull scraped against the girl's temple. Moroi was in such pain, not many things made sense. yet the girl did know one thing:

She didn't want to die just yet.

Giving up trying to find something to grab on to at ground level, Moroi switched tactics, throwing up her arms and gripping the nurse's hair. Slender fingers dug and tangled into wet, greasy pleats, pathetic nails scratching against a hard, inhuman scalp. Moroi dragged her hands along the stiff, tanned flesh, her hands hitting the needles. Moroi didn't allow herself time to plan, only to act. Gripping the two syringes, Moroi yelled out, tugging the needles free of the Nurse's brain with a wet squeak sound.

The Nurse screamed shrilly, her artificial hand twitching and subsequently releasing the IV packet. The tube loosened it's hold on Moroi's bruised throat and she gasped, dragging herself hastily out from under the nurse. The young patient staggered to her feet, pivoting on the ball of a bare foot to face the disoriented nurse.

The nurse twitched and wailed, and Moroi took advantage of the situation. Quickly, she surveyed her surroundings, taking a mental inventory. The doctor's lounge was still fairly full and intact, as much as this "Dark Brookhaven" could be. A plastic tablecloth covered a plastic table, with sturdy mugs resting simply on the table, long left by their owners. Moroi had seen some pretty nasty stuff jumping from Asylum, to foster home, and back. She was more learned in the dark ways of humanity then even she knew. She quickly folded the cloth over the cups. The mugs clattered noisily as they toppled and were nestled by the plastic cloth-ware. Twisting the ends together, and gripping it tight, a makeshift sack was now in Moroi's firm grip. She charged, swinging her death-sack with fervor.

The first blow connected with the monster's spine, the crack of bone singing with the glassy sound of the mugs shattering. Moroi screamed again, pulling the bag up and over her head, only to bring it down again forcefully on the nurse's already damaged head. A thick liquid the colour of moldy socks which were white once upon a time flew from the monster's skull and splattered against the wall in high, feathery arcs. It smelled of feces and burning vynal.

"Stay!" She cried as she thwacked the monster.

"In!"

"My!"

"HEAD!"

Moroi beat it's head until it was nothing but a pasty mess, that pussy fluid sticking to her bag in thick, gooey strands. With a final kick to the Geisha nurse's ribs, Moroi finally ended her assault on it, her narrow chest quaking with rapid breaths.

"And stop trying to kill me." Her voice added dully.

For about two years now, Moroi Kagyuu's manifestations of her imagination have been coming out of her stories. Some of them seemed so nice, so kind. They'd tell her wonderful things. Like the Blue Fae from the land of Trin, who told Moroi that Trin was a place a thousand times better then Heaven, where Moroi could fly and eat her favorite foods not to live, but to just taste them on her tongue. Moroi would have a pet horsie in Trin, named Flatly, and all Moroi would have to do to pass from this world to that world, was to break the mirror in her room.

With her face.

So she did.

Moroi was sedated for a week because of that violent episode, and that was where she met Mister Stanley Coleman, who told the girl safe stories. Moroi was quite a bit more stable under Stanley's influence. But, Stanley is dead now.

Moroi carelessly dropped the tablecloth, her ears deaf to the sound of the shattering mugs as she stepped from the monster, looking around for anything more practical then a few-pound-heavy sack of shattered pottery. She pierced the silence with a sharp-toned squeak as the pad of her foot was pricked by something sharp. Moroi hopped back of her good foot, looking at what had upset her foot sole. Resting calmly, like it had every right to be there, lay a sheathed scalpel. She smiled, picking up the instrument and uncapping it. The cover was rubbery, but Moroi paid it no mind, she was more concerned about the scalpel's blade.

It was sharp, good as new, the blade about two inches long. Another smile crawled along Moroi's lips as she re-sheathed the blade, and tucked it into her pantywaist. It was small, but it could come in handy...

Hastily, Snailgirl moved to the door and quickly exited, retracing her steps back to the elevator. Again, nothing had changed, deserted as ever. Moroi grumbled, wishing someone sane was with her. Then again, this _was_ a place for crazy people.

A forceful clatter greeted the girl as she tried to open the double doors to the next wing. Locked.

"That's odd...Who could've locked...?" Moroi's brows furrowed as she tried once again to open the doors. Again they clattered, blocking her way. With a sigh, Moroi turned to the door to the stairs. It however, was unlocked and quite inviting.

Ascending the stairs, Moroi came to a stop at the door to floor two. On the doorknob hung a doctor's head-mounted light. The young girl gripped the tough rubber strap, pulling it from the door handle and adjusting it for her own dainty skull. Moroi snapped it on, the strap hugging her head tightly. With a satisfied nod, Moroi flicked on the small spotlight, and proceeded to floor two.  
  
Fri July 9th 4:14pm 2004


	6. Plate V

_DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Silent Hill, Konami does. Sexual advances don't loosen their vice grip over it either, I've tried. Moroi, Growl, and Moroi's psyche belong to me....Author's notes are at the end of this chapter._   
**  
Plate V  
** A Silent Hill fic by Q  
  
_thp thp thp thp._

Such was the sound of the girl's naked feet hitting the concrete surface of the chilly stairs. She climbed effortlessly, the head mounted light dancing in her rush. It's beam made seizuring movements against the cold, dead walls. She passed the door allotting entry to the second floor, and continued on. Moroi's room was on the third floor, after all, and maybe looking for the books from top down would be more effective.

Finally, the young asian girl reached the third stairwell. One above her would give her roof access, but really, what would be the point of going up there? No, Moroi opted to enter the third floor, and so she did.

The handle was oddly warm, as if someone had recently touched it. Moroi knew now that she wasn't alone. After all, she had encountered that 'nurse', and had heard sounds similar to those it made. Other 'nurses' lurked. Moroi did what she could to avoid them.

The door gave with a groan, and Moroi winced. Opening it just a sliver, the girl peered down the hall, left, then right. Nothing but dim corridors lay before her, and that was fine with Moroi.

With a motivating inhale, Moroi pushed the complaining door open farther, slipping out of the stairwell and letting it shut numbly behind her. The patient approached the door separating her room's wing from the rest of the hospital.

What Moroi saw tacked to the door made her breath die lackluster-ly in her small throat.

Plate V.

Rorschach's fifth ink blot card. Moroi shied away slightly. She hated Plate V. Most claim to see a bat or a butterfly, and Moroi could see the interpretation, yet too, she could see movement. Figures dancing around in a sick, depraved dance, snuffing life from one another, or sometimes carnal drives would take over.

Moroi wished to look away, yet her bright eyes were compelled to stare at the offending blot. It shifted before her eyes, engaging in its lustful swirl. Moroi's eyes narrowed, wishing to blink, but somehow denied.

The blot of harmless ink smudged. No-..it leaked. The darkness upon the stiff, over-fondled paper began to expand from all directions, the dancers and killers approaching the border between ink and the corporeal world. Oily patterns swirled within the murk, and the ink finally reached the lower edge of the page, dripping onto the the tile in the form of a thin rivulet. As it made contact with the ground, it's impact made one very distinct sound.

'Torpor'

Slanted, almond shaped eyes widened as large as possible, fear pushing salty water to her lids. Moroi turned and ran, fearing for her life.

Torpor, the place she went to when sedated by the Brookhaven staff, the place all her dark denizens resided. Torpor was a place of pure evil, where Moroi housed all the negative characters and personas. Torpor sent the sins of her mind...

The colourless pattern on the door exploded outwards, blackness rushing after the girl, devouring all it could. Walls, floors and gurneys all vanished within the pit that was this Torpor Tsunami. From the edge of this wave came tendrils, and horrible, cruel hooks, claws, and wings. It knew that without Moroi's conscious state, Torpor would be free.

Moroi ran as quickly as she could, not thinking about where she was going, or her goal of finding Coleman's books. No, she just had to run from the blackness inside her head.

Her body slammed against the end of the hall, the force of the collision sending a wave of pain through her whole frame. Thin shoulders danced with the heavy breaths her form needed to sustain itself. Moroi looked back, hearing the seductive cries from within Torpor. A hoarse scream tore from her throat and she jumped as the mass of the shapeless wave crashed into the wall inches from her. The girl pushed from the wall, heading down to her right.

Above the coaxing din of Torpor, Moroi heard a very distinct sound: A ding.

She heard the elevator doors at her left and ahead slide open, and she dashed.

A claw of Torpor gripped Moroi from behind, filling her nostrils and pulling her head back. At the speed the young woman was going, the force caused Moroi to fall back, feet sliding out from under her. Her skull crashed heavily against the tiled floor, and she screamed, forcing her eyes to stay wide. Closed eyes meant sleep, a detachment from reality. And that meant Torpor won.

The girl, while in a heightened state of panic, managed to keep her focus on the elevator just beyond Torpor's borders.

"We're a part of you," Hissed the inhabitants of Snailgirl's locked and keyed psyche. "you're a part of us..."

"IIE!" Screaming out in her native tongue, Moroi Kagyuu focused on the pinpoint that was the real world. Moroi snarled, knowing that she was the one in power here, and not Torpor. This wasn't a story, and even if it was, now was the time to allow one of the graver writing errors.

"Hai-YA!" Curling her knees to her chest, Moroi kicked out with all her strength, breeching the darkness touching her feet and letting cracks of normalcy spider web their way through out the vileness. The evil crumbled away at that spot, and the pained Torpor release it's hold on Moroi, who escaped through the broken Fourth Wall.

She squealed with a laugh of success as she ran from the beast, dashing the few feet to the elevator. Moroi skid to a halt at the invite of the open doors, the elevator was stopped between floors. Below her was the roof of the elevator, which seemed to be stuck just shy of floor two.

Two options now wafted quickly through Moroi's head. The first was to jump, and possibly risk a broken bone, the second was to stay where she was, and possibly risk a broken mind. Thankfully, bones heal, souls, free will, and trauma does not.

Moroi leapt down the shaft without hesitation. Her feet made stiff, sore impact with the metallic roof of the cart with a clang. Yet for a jolt to her person, Moroi was otherwise unharmed.

A thick sludge oozing down the shaft wall reminded Moroi of her plight, and the girl looked up, seeing a new wave of Torpor beginning to seep into the shaft. Moroi narrowed her almond eyes, quite fed up with this ebony leak. With a defiant smirk, she waited for Torpor to come for her.

With a cry, Moroi threw up her hands, middle fingers and thumb tucked in, pointer and pinky out. She crossed her delicate snail hands over at the wrists, her middle arching back to meet the slime head on. It splashed against her arms, crying in agony as it was pushed back by the sheer force-of-will that the Snails brought the girl. Torpor broke, pounding against the shaft walls and running down like lifeless torrents of dirty water. Monsters cried as their person was exorcized from Moroi's imagination. Soon, the girth of Torpor was spent, and nothing but little puddles still dripped down the long, square tunnel. Moroi panted, brows furrowed, and mind buzzing with a dull sensation of freedom. She puffed out a final cleansing breath, before uncrossing her Snails, and righting herself.

With a ding, the second floor doors to her right split open, and Moroi stepped back onto Brookhaven floors.  
  
_7:56pm  
Sun July 11th/04 _

Notes:  
Plate V, or Plate 5 is the fifth inkblot in Rorschach's inkblot test. It is a simple black blotch that resembles a bat or a butterfly. It's reported that to see moving forms in this particular blot is a sign of schizophrenia.

Torpor- A state of mental or physical inactivity or insensibility. Lethargy; apathy. The dormant, inactive state of a hibernating or aestivating animal.


	7. Kame Kaze Puppy God

_DISCLAIMER:_ People around me are being obnoxious. Silent Hill belongs to Konomi. Moroi's mine. This chapter is late, because honestly? I wasn't much looking forward to writing it. I wanna get to the good stuff, damnit! OH! And by God DAMN! All of you better go read _Dulce et Decorum Est_ in Hello Captain's gallery. Read it! I implore you!   
In case you were wondering- the title's a type-o, but I liked it, so I kept it. Go me.  
  
**Kame Kaze Puppy God**  
A Silent Hill fic by Q 

A chill danced up Moroi's narrow, spurred spine as her nerves coped with the happenings of moments earlier. Slanted eyes marveled as the reminisce of sentient, nightmarish slime dribbled off of her hospital cloths, and left a path of residue behind her. The Torpor slipped off like oil on water, leaving not even a stain behind on her characteristically tussled cloths. Moroi glanced at the path behind her, before giggling. She had her own little path of snail-slime!

As Moroi's laughter petered off, another sound picked up it's slack. Something akin to a hyena's laughter, mixed with echoes of the death rattles of a decapitated being. The girl turned to face the path laid out before her, and her eyes widened for the nth time that night.

She was greeted by nothing. Empty corridors stretched on for meters, only to stop at a bend. Moroi gripped one of her sleeves, running her palm up and down the thin fabric, crinkling and creasing it mutely. A nervous caress to her biceps eased her apprehension somewhat. She continued silently down the hall. If she took a left, she could take the stairs up to level three. Yet, Moroi realized that if she continued straight, she could cut through the day room and get to an elevator. Who really wishes to climb steps anyway?

The Day Room, even in this broken down state, was rather accommodating. Through the thick, wire re-enforced windows, the ambient brightness of the fog outside cast a pitiful excuse for light. The young woman squinted, letting her eyes adjust. Rubbing at the aforementioned organs with the back of a gentle hand, the patient took a moment to look around. She giggled as she spotted a figure resting in a wooden chair, much like one a school desk would use. The body was slumped forward heavily, a straw hat covering any face it may have. Moroi trundled up to the figure, instantly recognizing it as Mister Murder, the scarecrow Brookhaven used for a Halloween decoration every year.

Lifting Murder's head, she grinned. "Hello, Mr. Murder. You're out a bit early this year. Was that closet too stuffy?" Honey hued eyes looked Murder over, checking him for any bad things; Staples, nails, ten inch long butcher knives that wanted to part Moroi's legs from her torso. Moroi saw none of that, but that's not to say she saw nothing.

For upon the scarecrow's lap rested a metal box. Through patches of rust, Moroi could decipher a khaki green paint, and white block letters.

"Property of the U.S. Army."

The young patient carefully undid the latch, enjoying the metallic 'pop' sound it let out. Opening the box, Moroi spied two very interesting things:

One was a small container resembling an eye dropper. The label on the bottle cheerfully let the girl know it was an 'ampoule'. The other object was a simple red box. Moroi plucked it up in her fingers and slid it open. The light from her head glinted against metallic gold, bullet shaped objects. Moroi nodded approvingly and plopped the box, now closed, back into the ammunition's case. Snapping the green container closed, Moroi scooped it up.

Without the ammo box to support it, Mr. Murder slide down, only to thud lifelessly onto the ground. Moroi tilted her head.

"You want to come too, Mr. Murder? But, I gotta find Mr. Coleman's stories..." She let her voice trail off at the mute, helpless please of the scarecrow. "You're scared too, huh?" She ventured tenderly, with utter sympathy lacing her voice. "Alright. I'll get you back to the closet, where it's safe."

Moroi placed the handle of the ammo box between her white teeth, and gripped the false decorum, shifting Murder until he was piggy-backing on top of her.

"Reh-dee?" Moroi took a step towards the door. Her little body shot a good three feet into the air as a large mass fell at her side, exploding into a small water balloon-like way, ejaculating gore and inner substances onto her and Murder's person. Moroi screamed and jumped to the side, head tilting up to see what had happened. Upon the roof prowled a pack of vile canines. Their maws were sealed tight, the long, jowl flesh burnt the jaw around and taught, serving as it's own muzzle. Their shoulders excruciatingly prominent, splitting through the skin and rank, sticky fur, gleaming with blood and enamel. All four legs held several joints, and were stilted, ending in sharp, cruel, bio mechanical spears. The demon dog's eye sockets were bruised and bare, tears of coagulated, congealed blood serving no purpose other then to further mat the fur of the monsters.

Without a second thought, Moroi turn and ran, teeth gripping the ammo box's handle tightly and fingers digging into the scratchy texture of Mr. Murder's legs. As soon as the girl bolted, a dog leapt from the roof, letting gravity and it's own strength propel it at the girl. It's trajectory missed and it collided with the day room's double doors, annihilating itself with a loud splat and a firework of innards. Yet the force of the Kame kaze Puppy Dog swung the door open wide, which the frightened girl used to her advantage. Truthfully, she would have liked to have shut and barred the door behind her, but by this time, the Dogs took up a clumsy chase. The girl ran, the soles of her feet sticking to the ground due to the perspiration fear distributed generously between her toes. She could hear the clacking of the knife-like legs of the dogs and the 'scree!' they made just before vaulting off the ceilings

Moroi felt a dampness hit her legs, following a loud, heavy thud. Just inches away from being caught. Another 'thud-squelch!' echoed the one before it, a razor sharp limb sailing past Moroi's ear, the honed tip catching the loose material of her shirt's neckline, and dragging the cloth after it. Moroi hastily shot down the shallow, right corridor, which was more of a cubbyhole, the door to the stairs, and an elevator nestled calmly in the walls. Behind her rested a covered gurney. Knowing she had only seconds before the Dogs would pounce, Moroi feverishly opened the door to the stairwell, and clicked off her headlight. In her rush, Moroi had dropped Mr. Murder onto the ground, pushing the stairway door open with both hands. She turned, gripping up Mr. Murder.

"I'm sorry for this, Martyr Murder...Thank you." The girl hugged the life sized doll, before tossing it down the stairs. For such a soft thing, Murder sure made a huge clatter as he tumbled down the stone steps. The girl quickly ducked underneath the gurney, slipping the metal box at her side. A 'Skree-thud-sploort!' crashed above her followed by a cascade of Kame kaze Puppy-muck. More 'tnk tnk tnk's were heard as the rest of the pack followed the alluring ruckus of Mr. Murder.

When the sounds of the pack had faded, Moroi quickly scuttled out from under the bed, slamming the door shut, barring the Pack's return.

She jumped slightly as a figure on the bed greeted her, but exhaled as she realized it was Growl.

"Good thinking."

Moroi nodded, rolling her neck free of any kinks. Amongst the puddle of Dog that soiled the floor, rested a black object, Moroi crouched to get a better look.

"You have found a gun." Noted the bedded beast. "Would you like to take it with you? Yes? No?"

Moroi picked up the gun, examining it. It was slippery with Dog-soup, but seemed functional. Ejecting the chamber, she noted it was unloaded. She nodded, chirping out a 'dun' sound as she stuck the barrel into her pant-waist.

Moroi froze as she heard a noise, head whipping to look down the hall.

"Growl...? We're not alone...." And with that keen assessment, the little asian quickly scuttled beneath the gurney, to watch, and to wait for the next level of madness.  
  
_Sun July 18th 2:27pm   
  
NOTES:  
-Tch...this chapter took me three days. I started it on the 15th, at 6:23pm. I was constantly busy and lazy with it. Ah well.   
-Next chapter has a guest appearance of another Silent Hill OC!  
-Again, I implore you to read __Dulce et Decorum Est_ in Hello Captain's gallery.  
-I betcha all thought a gun would be in the ammo box, huh? Gullible readers.  
-And did you catch the little references to game play? Go subtle me!


	8. Sin Sear

_DISCLAIMER:_ I don't own Silent Hill. Konami does. We've been through this before. This specific chapter holds a small surprise in it! Moroi Kagyuu and Growl belong to me. 

**Sin Sear**  
A SH Fic by Q

Moroi Kagyuu's stomach was pressed flat against the icy, damp floor. Her thin, cloth shirt had ridden up her hips as she scuttled under the hospital gurney, and now bunched just below her breasts. She shifted, tilting her hip up and reaching down to pull the firearm from her pants. After fumbling one handedly for many seconds, her small hands pulled the hammer back with awkwardness. But the hammer clicked quietly into place, and Moroi's eye twitched. Admittedly, Moroi really liked the sound of the gun, and knew she should have not. Guns were dangerous.

Soft thuds, moving in a smooth, rhythmic crescendo, were all but at her nose by the time they fell into their own silence.

"Grace-" Moroi's whole body caught itself in live rigor-mortis, muscles tensing into knots of fear. A click of a door locking in the nearby distance. The girl let a slow, ragged, stale breath pass her lips. As a dull spotlight haloed the blanket curtaining over the gurney, Moroi took note of a pair of large shoes. Men's shoes.

They squeaked against the tile as their owner turned from the bed, and Moroi, curiosity winning over her paranoia, tentatively moved the barrel of the gun to push the sheet aside. The Snailgirl peered at the person, eyes squinting, as all she could make out due to the glare of a small pocket light, was a silhouette.

She suddenly scrunched back into her little den as the figure once again moved towards the gurney.

And there Moroi stayed for nearly three whole minuts...

Then the stained sheet flew off of the bed.

In a blur of ethereal instinct, Moroi shoved the barrel of the firearm towards the feet, raising it to be roughly eye level.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" The usually quiet snail screamed, though she didn't recall screaming it. Moroi scarcely registered the fact that a pair of sleek, ebony barrels were pointed right at her head, even though she could feel the heat, and smell the burning discharge. In an effort to appear threatening, her lip twitched, trying to sculpt itself into a vicious sneer. "Get away from me or I- I'll..."

Moroi purposely let her words fade, knowing that the likelihood of seeing any threat through was minimal. Yet he stepped back, all the same, giving the young girl room to slither out from under the useless bed-fixture. She crawled out with squeaks of skin against tile, as puppy-guts painted her form rather liberally. Somehow, the gun's nose never left its target, even as her now bloodshot, golden eyes skated over his form analytically, twitching with a fervor, assessing the man. Finally her gazed snapped to his, eyes remaining serious and still.

"Who are you..?" She queried, gaze turning sideways at the disheveled young man. It was clear he's been through his own little "Brookhaven Bazaar", yet Moroi didn't recognize his face amongst patients or staff.

"I'm just looking-"

The young girl shook her head quickly, letting out a low sound of displeasure. "nnn!! No." Thin arms spasmed slightly, emphasizing the handgun pointed at Moroi's companion. "Who are you?"

"Please, I'm not going to hurt you...just put the gun down."

"Nneh-heh.." The asian could feel her twitchy lips curve into a sardonic, un-amused smile. Frayed, Moroi could be dangerous, and as much as she feared her own dark side, she knew what she could do. Her feet unrationally tapped out a fleshy, slappy song, just as a self-stableizing tactic. "That's a funny name. Kinda long though."

"My name is Jobe." He finally answered in deadpan, eyes partially lidding flatly.

Moroi looked 'Jobe' down, then up one last critical time, before slowly relaxing her arms and lowering her weapon. Her fingers twitched over it's black metal though, a subconscious indicator to Jobe that she indeed still had it, and was not going to back down, should he decide to snap, as happens so often here in Brookhaven.

"Oh. That's a bit easier to remember." With a smack, Moroi's feet fell still and silenced their tune. "Ok, Jobe, why are you here?" The residual scent of the gunpowder tickled the back of Moroi's throat, but so far, Jobe had left her in peace. Her hand's relaxed some on the gun, and a slightly more characteristically chipper tone seeped into her words.

"My friend an I, we...ran into some trouble." The man nodded his head in the direction of his leg, which was bandaged crudely and hurriedly.

She frowned at the wound, before flicking her look back to Jobe's face. "Where's your friend now?" Those slender, slanted eyes quietly scanned the hall. "They're not here now, are they?" Moroi's narrow shoulders wilted slightly as she noted that no, no one other then herself and Jobe were present.

"No, she's not. I lost her..."

Moroi looked up at the wounded man as she realized his voice drifted into nothingness. Her brows furrowed in empathetic concern. "Are you ok?"

She barely had time to move out of the way before the dark-skinned man collapsed on top of her like a bag of sand.

"Nnn!" She pulled against Jobe's weight, her pointless nails digging into the tile grout and making a valiant effort to give the girl support. Moving in an inch-worm like fashion, the patient strained, worming her way out from under the man. Moroi scrambled to her feet and hissed. Jobe was heavy, and was touching her rear end.

She sighed, gripping onto one of the man's strong shoulders. Tugging with all her little might, Moroi clumsily managed to turn Jobe onto his back. Dutifully, she checked his neck, feeling for any vitals. She gingerly padded her feet onto his chest, perching atop Jobe's ribcage like some sort of curious primate. The girl leaned forward, Jobe's acrid breath ghosting along her stained face and causing her weighed down hair to dance.

A groan emitted from the fallen young man, and Moroi blinked, observing the colour of his eyes as Jobe opened them.

"Are you ok?" She chirped with worry.

"No."

As Jobe rose, Moroi easily hopped off of his chest, offering a hand to help him rise. But her offer was dismissed, and Jobe simply headed for the nearest door. "What's wrong?"

"I was just feeling light-headed, that's all." Jobe yanked the door open, and the mind-splintering yelp it cried as the bottom dragged over the floor made Moroi cringe.

Yet she managed to regain her composure, and made a flippant observation.

"You're worse than that old Mr. Kaprow in M3. . .He's always asleep."

Jobe stopped, hanging onto the door.

"Room M3?" He echoed.

Moroi's eyes opened wide as a carousel, already knowing how this moment was going to progress."I wouldn't go there. Mr. Kaprow hates being disturbed-..." Her voice quivered in apprehension, knowing full well Kaprow's rap sheet. Never mind the fact that 'always asleep' was akin to Torpor, no telling what Hells his Torpor unleashed.

Unfortunately, her warnings fell on deaf ears, and Jobe strode purposefully into the shadows of the hallway. Even flicking on her light gave no hint to where the man had slipped off too.

Feeling rather rejected and needless, Moroi let out a breath of mirrored apathy. Yet for all the dismissive gestures Moroi was just targeted with, she could not entirely help her kind disposition, and wished Jobe well.

"I have a story to find." She muttered indignantly into the blackness. Padding over to the door and gripping its clammy handle, Moroi cast one last look at Jobe's path.

"..I hope you find what you're looking for too, Jobe..."__

_Tues, July 20th 2004_

_-Jobe is owned by Wrath and is from the Silent Hill fic "Sins of the Father". Go read it in Wrath's gallery. I don't own Jobe._


	9. Have a Little Humour

_DISCLAIMER:_ Ok, so I've been waiting a while to get this chapter done. Happy me! Silent Hill belongs to Konami, but Moroi and all her little friends are mine, all mine! WAHAHAHAH!!!  
  
**Have a Little Humour**  
A SH fic by Q  
  
Moroi climbed the steps two at a time, the gun re-stuck into her pant waist after she had loaded it. Its sleek barrel was chilly against her thin, soft abdomen, but she paid it no mind. The door emitted a groan of agony as the young in-patient pushed it open and stepped onto the third floor.  
  
Finally! Moroi had made it 'home', to her floor. She looked across the hall to the door to S6, her room, where this all began.  
  
Snailgirl sucked in a hiss of reeking air as she finally realized the appearance of her surroundings. The dilapidated state of Brookhaven had gone AWOL, and seemed replaced by utter Hell.  
  
The walls were dead, rotted material, which was stitched together in patches. Wallpapering the walls were scribbles, many identifiable as Moroi's own penmanship, rushed, written over and running up, not down, into nonexistent sewer grates at the ceiling. The air smelled of old paper, sour ink, stale lead, and rotted wood, never mind the inherent undercurrent of something only akin to death. Tiny beads of moisture traveled through the air, suspended by their own will to be suspended. Some, Moroi would easily define as 'pretty', but those ones smelled of sweat and tasted of salt, some tasted dimmer on her tongue, yet held more sodium. Tears? The darker, oily blue and black swirly ones were evidentially an ink of some kind, and Moroi willed herself not to ponder the red ones.  
  
Blood.  
  
Sweat.  
  
And Tears.  
  
The tools of all passionate writers.  
  
As Moroi walked quietly, the hovering beads soaked into her already marred clothing, and symbiotically latched onto her flesh and hair. She could feel pinpricks of irritation wherever the blood landed, sense the stench of the perspiration, and as the tears touched her, a shadow of sorrow absorbed into Moroi's heart. And with each ink drop, a new creation, existence, failed idea never to be scrawled and to inevitably die. Her nose twitched, stomach churning slightly, as she knew these humours didn't belong to just her. They were alien, unwelcome, and bitter.  
  
A frail hand reached out to the wall, pressing fingers against its goosepimply surface. Moroi let out a sound of ill sensations as her mind identified it as flesh, and pulpy, runny paper.  
  
The girl stepped fully into the hall; now noting her room's door handle seemed to be completely absent, the door papered over with a healthy share of staples and paper/flesh. Moroi groaned.  
  
Gzzzzt!  
  
Moroi's head turned swiftly to the right; her first observation was the fact the hall seemed much shorter. In fact, it ended with S8, S9 through S14 non-existent. The path that should have lead to S9 and beyond was barred by a stretch of that stitched together mass, pulled, distended and taught. This was achieved by the strong webbing of what appeared to be partially solidified rubber cement. The strands of sticky mucus still dripped a bit, unable to dry fully in the damp air. Upon the 'screen' blurred and ran various scratched, distorted images, busily attempting to order themselves into something decipherable.  
  
Finally the images calmed, bringing forth a scratched image, yellow and spotty with age. A chipper track of not-so-special Japanese percussion and strings, skipped lazily over the image as it focused. The characters were of Eastern descent, and were tailed by English subtitles.  
  
"Moroi Kagyuu. This is Your Life!"  
  
An overly optimistic voice over read out the script, his voice patronizingly cheerful.  
  
The writing blipped off screen, to be replaced by an image of an a-typical Asian family: mother, father, and a pink blanket in mother's arms, supposedly the daughter.  
  
"Here you are at birth. Aww, what a cute baby!"  
  
Moroi's brow's lowered, finding the faces unrecognizable. But then again, her parents didn't keep her long, now did they?  
  
"Happy as they were, they sure didn't keep you long, now did they?"  
  
See?  
  
But the announcer continued on in his chipper voice, not patient enough for an answer, not that the disembodied voice really expected to be answered in the first place.  
  
The image changed quickly, to a scene that Moroi did recognize. It was her room in that Japanese hospital, one she spent a majority of her young life in.  
  
"And here you are at home, playing with the nurses."  
  
A frenzy of yellowed white, and black blurred onto the screen, Moroi saw a vision of herself through the eyes of a non-existent third party. She could see Screen-Moroi dragged by the arms by two nurses, her body spasming with discontent. She was seen kicking and scratching at the staff, her whole body covered in scratches and small polka dots of blood.  
  
Moroi remembered that day; she had the brilliant idea to give herself lead poisoning, and thus stabbed herself over and over with a number 2 pencil. Art was so much more appreciated after the creator was dead.  
  
"You sure do seem to be having fun!...Aww..and here your are all tuckered out from a long day of playing."  
  
Screen-Moroi was stretched out on her back, lying upon her designated gurney. Her slender wrists and ankles strapped tightly to the bed with thick leather restraints. A wide trail of saliva dribbled down her cheek and knotted her splayed hair. Her slender eyes appeared sunken, and were rolled back, the whites stark in the yellowed 'film'  
  
Moroi shuttered.  
  
"But despite all the fun with your nurse friends, you were lonely. And that's why you made friends in your head. Weren't they fun?" The host uttered a courtesy laugh. "Of course they were. Who needs real friends when you got your mind?"  
  
Moroi felt her face curve into an indignant scowl.  
  
"And then you met Korosu..."  
  
The image blipped, fading like burning film, only to be replaced by the image of a young Asian man in his late teens. The image was shoulders up, but the collar of a bland hospital shirt could be identified. The young man's expression seemed dark by nature; a thick, transparent wall seemed to keep everyone at a distance. Korosu's hair was thick, and rather messy, hanging about his face like onyx coloured shards.  
  
"He was a troubled young man, yet you seemed to understand him. You two dated."  
  
Moroi's vision was soon filled with a kaleidoscope of images, each portraying herself and Korosu engaged in various activities around the Hospital grounds. All were fairly innocent and naive, nothing above a PG rating.  
  
"Aww..." Gushed the announcer. "But most of all, you two dreamed together."  
  
The girl let her head fall, knowing what was about to be revealed to her, yet she kept her gold eyes on the images. Moroi liked remembering the good times, and burring the bad.  
  
"You of being published, and free. Korosu dreamed of killing his abusive father. The two of you exchanged stories about the Angel of Death, a Japanese urban legend. The two of you dreamed of the Angel taking you away and righting your wrongs. Eventually, the two of you believed that the Angel gave you pair powers. Korosu was discharged on good behaviour, and granted a trip home. Do you know what happened next, Moroi?"  
  
Moroi answered reluctantly, her lower eyelids twitching with dozens of overwhelming emotions. How dare this false game show host dig up Korosu's mental grave and drag his name through the mud! But for all of Moroi's justified feelings, she was compelled to answer."..Within an hour, Korosu had killed his father."  
  
"Very good, you're a smart girl. As a re-cap, Korosu killed his father within an hour, and was returned to the hospital. Then..One day, Korosu was nowhere to be found. You prattled on and on about the Angel of Death taking Korosu, and that you'd see him in your fantasy world. Have you?"  
  
"...No."  
  
"That's right." Answered the voice-over flippantly. "You never saw your childhood sweetheart again....UNTIL NOW!"  
  
She tried to speak, tried to question the voice or her ears, but her throat seized up and Moroi just stood, stunned.  
  
"LITTLE SNAIL!" Enthused the voice. "Say hello to KOROSU!!"  
  
Everything fell silent to Moroi as the image once again switched to a full boy image of her dear friend, this time he was swathed in an oversized duster, the black shirt underneath sporting an image of the Lakeview Amusement Park's official mascot Robbie the Rabbit's disembodied head. Robbie was pink, a shocking red stain of blood seeping into his seemingly furry cheeks. It clashed, but was oh-so- Korosu.  
  
Moroi let a tentative smile venture onto her lips. And then, the image distorted, and the girl reached out a hand, trying to keep the image with her. Little did she know that the pulling of the screen was a good thing. Fantasy ripped through reality as the man pulled from the screen like one would peel a rub on tattoo from flesh.  
  
Koroso was whole, his baggy 'bondage pants' rattling against the chain link floor. He smiled at her.  
  
All of the small dots of agony floating around the atmosphere seemed to leave the boy untouched, and their effects on Moroi numbed with Korosu's presence. At that smile, Moroi ripped at her inhibitions and simply lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his leather enwrapped arms and burying her soft, messy cheek deep against his ribcage.  
  
"It's ok, Snailgirl." Korosu's voice was like a cooling vapour against her pained skull. And the lovingly dubbed moniker of 'Snailgirl' sent waves of ghostly charm down Moroi's back. "I'm here."  
  
Moroi wanted to confess that she was horrified in this place. She wanted to tell him all the horrible things she had seen and had happen to her. She wanted to cry into Korosu's arms... But who has time for tears?  
  
Thus, Moroi Kagyuu just let out a pleased sound as Korosu shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rocking her back and forth. Her shoulders curved as he let hands slip round Moroi's mid-back, gently pinning her upper arms to her sides. Korosu then placed a gentle kiss on her dishevelled, mucky hairline; He didn't seem to mind the gore. His lips made contact with Moroi's softly curving forehead, and again lower, onto her button nose.  
  
Finally, Moroi felt her friend's lips on her own, a distantly prosaic feeling. She kissed back timidly, ever Korosu's humble follower. Korosu nibbled playfully at Moroi's chapped lips, causing her to laugh slightly. Korosu breathed out an amused sound before letting his tongue dance across her teeth.  
  
Tongue played against tongue and a seal of lips and heated breath was created as Moroi felt herself being held tighter in a strong, constrictive embrace.  
  
A gag bubbled up the girl's oesophagus when a warm, lumpy rush filled her mouth. It tasted bitter and brash, and coated every inch of her oral walls. She immediately identified the taste to be of drugs, and her tongue felt the contours of various pills and tablets. Moroi strained against her friend's body, yet Korosu's hold was forceful, and he moved with her, never breaking his seal. Moroi tried to cough, and only succeeded in opening her throat wider, that noxious concoction seeping it's quick way down to her stomach. Another cough was forced out of the girl, and some of the sick mass slipped between Moroi's and the man's mouth, leaking down her chin and against her clavicle. Moroi tried to cry out, and more of the cocktail just flowed down pooling amongst her stomach acids. Bubbles birthed from her nostrils, only to pop in tiny splatters and ooze out the vomitous mix.  
  
Moroi's wide, effervescent eyes blurred the image before them with tears, thinking maybe this whole thing would be easier to accept if it were anyone but Korosu. Tears ran their way down Moroi's curved cheek, cutting through the gore and meds to show clean flesh underneath. She stretched and strained, her hand gripping a cold, dead salvation.  
  
Her brows knit together in agony as Moroi felt the nose of the gun dig it's way into softness.  
  
With each roaring discharge of the handgun, a flash illuminated her eyes, despite the fact her lids were squeezed tightly together. And with each squeeze of the trigger, Moroi felt Korosu's hold weaken a little. After un- counted shots, a rush of icy air hit Moroi's frail frame as the form of Korosu slipped from her person, and thudded dully onto the chain link ground.  
  
Moroi dare not open her eyes as she dropped the firearm numbly, thin legs quaking beneath her, before giving out completely. Snailgirl's knees slammed against the rusted, wet chain link, before the rest of her form gave up, and fell onto Korosu's form. She snuggled, drawing the long coat around both forms, and huddling beneath it in a dead foetal position.  
  
_8:36pm,July 21st 2004  
  
-Korosu means 'Murder' by the by.  
-Wow. Two SH3 references. Can you catch em?  
-I've really wanted to write this chapter. YAY!_


	10. Delicate Disembowelment

DISCLAIMER: You know this story by now. I don't own Silent Hill, and it doesn't own me. I own Moroi and her buddies though. 

Delicate Disembowelment  
A SH fic by Q.

Moroi didn't bother to open her eyes for the longest time. Quite possibly, she fell asleep. The knowledge that she had to get up, and had to fight was forefront in her mind, but the want- the reason...there was none...

She just wanted to Be with him.

Moroi's eyes opened a touch, her vision blurry and disjointed. She was light headed, the vomit-drug cocktail swimming it's way through her small system. Muscles were like jelly, and moved sporadically and jarringly.

Yet, no matter how much she wanted to rest, the human body has a natural instinct to survive. That is why Moroi's numb fingers reached for the green blur in the distance.

Her fingers touched the cold metal of the ammo box, climbing up like a clunky spider, to hook onto the handle. She gave a weak pull, and the box tipped, falling onto its side with an earsplitting clatter. The lid slammed onto the grated floor and the contents spilled out, rolling onto the cover of the box like it were a tray.

Moroi's nails scratched against the plasticy surface of the small bottle which rested in the box. With the sound of a garbled, foamy exhale, Moroi struggled to grip the bottle, pulling it to herself. The exertion took much energy from the small girl, and she panted heavily, head swimming in near oblivion again, before she asserted herself once more. Capturing the neck of the bottle in her teeth, Moroi pulled the thing open, and let the bitter liquid stream into her mouth. Moroi shuttered as she forced herself to swallow it down, a weird tickle invading her chest and shoulders.

Slanted, amber coloured eyes blinked, focus returning to the girl as she was overcome with a rejuvenated sense. The young woman pushed from the corpse upon which she rested, making a point not to look down at it. She instead placed her fingertips to her lips, before placing the same fingertips to the cadaver's brow, followed by gently closing his dead eyes.

"Sleep well, Korosu." Moroi prayed numbly, before rising upon shaky legs.

Quickly, the Snailgirl grabbed up the revolver, reloading it with the remnants of the bullets. Her eyes returned to the box, now gutted of it's contents. With a shrug, Moroi snapped it closed and picked it up. It might come in handy.

She stuck the revolver back in her pantwaist, exhaling as she turned around to once again face her room. Moroi's brows furrowed and she blinked, a bit taken aback.

Her door was no longer blocked.

"...Oooookaaay..." The young patient tilted her head, eyes skeptical as her lithe fingers gripped the handle of her quarters.

With a pathetic, wounded groan, the door conceded, and opened, Moroi stepping into the room that had been her home for a number of years.

Slanted eyes immediately widened and teared in horror as Moroi realized her company.

Before her stood a young woman, of Moroi's own age. Her visage was bruised, emaciated, lids sliced off of her eye sockets, revealing the complete sphere of the golden eyes, nested in a void of black. Her smile was cruel and bloodthirsty, hair shaved, ripped out, scraggly. The creature sported a crown of insanity- a lobotomy crown device encircling her head, the screws drilled deep inside her skull to secure the torturous object.

Moroi let her eyes finally leave the hellish woman's, only to note her body. She was gutted, spine visible, her garb a sick skin of inverted human coverings, the knots of fat and veins still pulsating with life. The skin outfit was cut in the style of a traditional asian bridal dress. The spine of a huge book was soldered to her own spine, serving as bazaar wing like appendages. She smiled ever crueler, a hiss sibilating from between her fang like teeth.

"Moroi....." The creature's voice was airy, twisted...

Moroi whimpered, back hugging the door as her brows twisted in fear.

"I-..." She squeaked, voice weak. "I-I-..I just want to find Mr. Coleman's books, Harakiri..."

Harakiri. The Japanese art of disembowelment. Moroi's darkest designs, the villainous queen of Moroi's imaginary worlds. All the bad thoughts, designs, and sadistic tendencies that have every crept into the girl's mind were sent to feed Harakiri, in an effort to keep herself sane. But now Harakiri was off her leash.

Moroi trembled against the fleshy door like a little leaf as she tried to reason with the abomination before her. "I'm not going to chain you up back in my head. All I want are my friend's books. That's all."

A mechanical 'chunk' was heard, and Harakiri slowly began to rise up, her expansive skirts covering the floor and dragging delicately along the grating, revealing mechanic-like stilts made helter skelter from any materials available. Moroi's insanity queen began to laugh idly as she elongated herself, eyes always trained on the little speck tha was her captive.

"That's ALL!" Moroi desperately insisted, trying to ignore the fear-induced wetness seeping its way down her legs, onto the floor. But at the loss of that bodily function, Moroi's teeth chattered in shame.

"Tasty" Harakiri chuckled, watching the humiliation with glee. "I see I have quite the effect on you."

Moroi tried to set her jaw, eyes narrowing in a gesture of defiance. Still, she shook. "You can't control me. That wasn't because of you."

"No?" Her slender arms flexed, bony, spurred growths that were more reminiscent of an HR Giger creation then anything else. Her arm extended, slamming into the wall around Moroi, caging her against the door. Moroi screamed with the sudden gesture, flinching as the sound of breaking flesh and bone echoed all around her. Yet she willed her eyes open, looking at her nemesis once again.

"You can't kill me, Harakiri. If I stop being, so do you. You live in my head."

"Stupid girl." Hissed the disemboweled creation. "I don't need to kill you. Just keep you. Forever. Provoke you. Then I shall have free range."

Moroi gave the creature a flat look, arching a brow. "And do what?" Moroi inhaled raggedly, the next admission taking it's toll on her. "This isn't a story. This is reality. You don't exist!"

In a quick movement, Moroi grabbed the firearm at her hip and cocked it, firing two rounds at Harakiri's binding palm. The first shot cracked the hand, by the second, the appendage exploded into a flurry of bony shrapnel, the gun's kickback slamming Moroi against the door bruisingly.

Harakiri screamed in agony as her hand was blown away, Moroi taking this moment to duck out of reach of the flailing, enraged monster. The girl however, was not quick enough and received a crushing back fist to the spine, causing Moroi to crash against the ground, winded, firearm taking flight from her hand and discharging a round which ricocheted off of the window bars, and took up residence in Moroi's bed mattress.

The young asian forced herself to her feet, pain screaming from her back and chest. She pivoted, turning back to the hellish persona before her.

"Harakiri...I can make you. And so I can un-make you."

"Your voice is trembling, dear authoress." Cooed the beast smugly, the pain from a blasted away forearm seeming to elude her. With a spidery movement, Harakiri took an intimidating step towards Moroi, smirking all the while. "We both know you haven't thought of a way for your heroin to defeat me. Ergo, one truth remains..." The villain drew back, the brittle and dusting pages of the book-wings fanning open with a snap, causing a gust of stale wind to shoot at Moroi. "You're fucked!"

Moroi was lifted into the air by the violent gust, only to once again be backhanded by the chitinous hand of the monster. Her form flew limply through the negative space of the room, only to crash into the barred window, several things in her body letting out a unanimous 'snap!'.

Her little battered body slumped to the ground in a crumpled heap of defeat. She could then feel her sore body being lifted, the movement causing things within Moroi's frame to move, and she coughed up a nice helping of blood.

'You're fucked.'...The words echoed in the little woman's mind.

"Maybe I'll do as Chronos..." Harakiri mused darkly. "and swallow that which would un-make me..."

"M..." Moroi turned her weak eyes to the vial, dirty sockets of the alter-ego's, willing to stare down her captor."Th-...there's one..." Moroi heaved again, another fountain of bile and blood rushing down to the floor. "...One thing we have in common."

The creature let our a scoff, her lidless eyes dulling into an odd sort of 'flat' gaze, one much like Moroi's. "And what is that?"

"The ending." She answered simply. "The words.... 'And then-...she died...'"

A piercing agony caught Harakiri off guard as Moroi drove an object into her right eye. Moroi grimaced as she twisted the scalpel deep, before pulling it out of the eyeball with a 'squick' sound. Ocular fluid sprayed from the eye as the blade left it, only to have the other eye speared with the same weapon. Drilling deep inside the sphere, Moroi yanked it out again, slipping it past the shattered eye and into the socket, stabbing at the brain.

The two females toppled to the ground, Harakiri writhing below Moroi as she continued to stab and gut the innards of the creature's skull.

Self-disgust and an overwhelming sense of 'maturity' caused vomit to spill over Moroi's teeth as she continued to stab, over and over and over, knowing inside she was killing a very prominent part of herself.

Moroi then leapt off of the twitching monster, sliding over urine and viscera-slick floor to the gun, which she scooped up with hast. She jumped feet first onto the fallen fictional character, placing the barrel of the gun into an eye socket and pulling the trigger.

Everything that was Harakiri's mind exploded into a grotesque firework, Moroi letting her body fall back thanks to the cruel re-coil of a stoic firearm.


	11. Beauty:An Epilogue

_DISCLAIMER_: Silent Hill is owned by Konami and not me, much to the chagrin of my grumbling stomach. Moroi and all her fucked up head-works belong to me.  
This disclaimer iz pastede on yay!  
  
**Beauty- an Epilogue**  
A Silent Hill fic by Q 

_"And you will find beauty in the toughest of places. And I will be thinking of you. . ." LoveLight - "Beauty"_

Somehow, Moroi Kagyuu's stiff, smarting hand retained it's loose hold on the gun as her head swam, the slight sloshy sounds of brains and bits coming to a rest around the room. She blinked lazily.

Then she screamed. Her howl crescendo'd into a wail of despair and overwhelming stress. The small girl backed up against the firmness of the wall, or door, or whatever held her back. Her stare, gone from dazed to wild, was focused on what used to be Harakiri.

The trials of the past few hours were now barraging her mind as if a floodgate had been opened. Her senses were pounded with the diseased, twisted world around her, and the memories it brought.

Moroi tangled her free hand into her messy, slick hair, huffing with emotion before letting out another tormented yowl.

Stanley, Korosu, and so many of the figments in her mind...

Gone.

So much death.

Moroi let out yet another banshee's keen, wrist flicking so that the barrel of the gun nuzzled against her temple, tangled in her frazzled hair.

"No, Moroi!" Growl materialized onto the disheveled bed, a claw reaching out to stop her.

"NO!" Screamed the girl, normally sunny eyes looking so dead, and lost. "Don't you understand?! Everything I am is GONE!"

"Moroi..." The beast replied, slowly. "You're not alone. This isn't Hell. And I'm still here for you."

"NO!" Moroi turned the gun upon the beast, discharging a bullet into the mattress as the monster's feet. "I'm warning you, Growl. Don't try to stop me. I wanna leave this place!"

Growl turned his large, spiny head towards the smoking bullet hole by his talons, yet took a step off of the bed, and yet another towards Moroi.

"Look behind you."

Moroi narrowed doubting eyes, returning the barrel to her temple. "You want to trick me." She sneered.

"Korosu's been given peace." Countered Growl, extending a claw (which looked oddly similar to Harakiri's arms, just on a smaller scale.) past the girl's shoulder.

With a trembling breath, the asian slowly, ever slowly turned her head to glance past her shoulder. Past the chain link and pane of glass that was the wall, Moroi could see where Korosu last lay.

He remained in the same spot, yet his shirt was inexplicably pulled up to his pectorals, page upon page of blank papers taking flight from his open, un-muddied gut. The pages fluttered and twisted upwards, dancing gracefully into the form of a cross.

"Th...they're blank." Moroi observed with a dull sort of naivety."He's...getting his clean slate...!" Moroi let out a tired half-chuckle of triumph. "He's lucky. I wish him well..."

"You see, Moroi? It'll be alright."

"Yeah..." She agreed, yet with stipulations. "But not for me."

The hammer clicked audibly as Moroi turned back to face Growl, the gun once again taking up that familiar position. "The stories were mutilated." Apparently, Moroi lost her author-bred eloquence as she followed up her dire words with "This ending sucks!"

"_NO_!"

"Hey-..."

Moroi and the beast both paused and blinked at each other as a third voice echoed about the room. It's source was obviously rooms over, and Moroi turned her eyes to the corresponding direction.

The wall was still one of metal and glass, a maze of grating and glass, which spanned for a good long while and Moroi could clearly spy the innards of the rooms beyond. Moroi let her view rest on the image of a young blonde, standing many many yards away. The asian couldn't make out distinguishing features, but the woman's tired voice rang out, bouncing along the labyrinth of metal and smooth panes, to Moroi's small ears.

  
"Heather, my most sacred lover. I'm always watching you.  
No matter where you are or what you may be doing,  
I have never lost sight of you.  
I know you feel intensely lonely."

Moroi's vision became streaked and blurred, her lips curling into the tiniest of smiles.

"Yet with a single key to this door, those feelings won't stand in  
the way any longer.  
We haven't been able to see each other for so long.  
Be patient --- it's just a little longer.  
I'll be patient, too, even though I long to hold you in  
these hands of mine."

Such sweet, devoted and loving words...

The girl found her lips enounceating along with the recited prose, moving smoothly and by memory. Stanley often read aloud his love tidings to Moroi, and she drank in every word, locking them away within her mind.

"There's not a single person here who's right in the head.  
Not just in this hospital --- I mean in all of Silent Hill.

Except me.

Stanley Coleman"

The tears in Moroi's eyes spilled over as her cheeks lit up in a smile. She sniffled, slight frame trembling a touch.

Slowly, the young survivor lowered her weapon, letting it clatter numbly and lifelessly to the ground.

"S-...They were wrong..." She concluded, wiping a fist across a wet eye. "You were right. . ."Moroi hiccupped out a sob, one shaking with accomplishment and congratulatory praise. Moroi's purposes fulfilled and spent.

"She came to you, Stanley. . ." It didn't much matter what happened to her now. The girl just sat, resigned to her guardianship title.

The Snailgirl of Brookhaven.

"...She found you."

_Sat Aug 14 10:09pm  
-This took me two days. Again, I was constently interrupted.  
-I hope I got the location of that particular Coleman book correct. Anyone wanna tell me otherwise, feel free.  
-Though this is the end of the fic, know that Moroi does find her way out of Brookhaven and into the life of a loving father-figure!  
-Well, I suppose that's all. I want to thank all my reviewers and readers. I hope  
you've enjoyed this fic. Tell your friends about it! Yeeees. Let Moroi rule the world! Give your love to the SnailGirl!  
-Thank you to Wrath. Because I say so!_


End file.
